The Piano Player
by realitiedout
Summary: Oliver Wood, who has lived for nearly eleven years thinking he is a muggle, finds out that he is actually a wizard. How does he cope with this knowledge, with his booksmart classmate Percy Weasley, and the impending war against Voldemort? Slash
1. The Woodchuck Family

Please note that this is a slash story, with Percy Weasley and Oliver Wood as the focal pairing. In other words, there will be two, gay, fictional male characters falling in love (i.e. homosexuality). Do not read this fanfic if you are against this particular type of coupling. 

Disclaimer: The _Harry Potter_ series and all related products is the copyright of J. K. Rowling, Warner Bros., and various companies I don't know about. This fanfic is intended for entertainment purposes and is not for profit. No copyright violation was intended. The storyline and any original characters that show up in this fanfic is the property of Mang Guo. Please do not post or reproduce this fanfic in any form without my consent. 

____________________ 

Chapter One: The Woodchuck Family 

In the corner, behind the chesterfield and hidden from view, he sits with knees pulled up, head down, and body shivering uncontrollably. He knows what is going on upstairs, knows what they will be saying. He wonders if there is something wrong with him. He thinks -- hopes -- that maybe it was an accident. Maybe, when he'd gotten carried away with his piano playing, banging angrily away at the keys, the vase, a family heirloom that had been passed down for seven generations, had fallen off the shelf from the piano's vibrations. Or maybe, a particularly strong gust of wind had blown through an open window... 

The boy, however, knows that none of the possibilities are likely. After all, the vase had been halfway across the room, sitting on the topshelf of a bookcase that practically skimmed the ceiling. And the piano room didn't have any windows. 

In a flash, the boy remembers something else that happened a week ago. Something equally strange, equally abnormal... 

He'd been running from Oafus and his goons, and just as he'd dashed past several garbage cans in an alleyway, something peculiar occurred. The air became stifling, not unlike the dense, heavy texture it took on before a huge thunderstorm. His skin started prickling, and the hairs on his arms had seemed to stand on end, as if magnetized by or attracted to something in the air. And then it happened. 

The garbage cans -- three in total -- shot out of the alleyway, and to his horrified amazement, had swooped past him and began chasing after Oafus and his lackeys. Stupefied, he'd watched on as his tormentors ran down the street with flying garbage cans close on their tail. The last word he heard from Oafus, as he'd skidded around a corner, was a scared shout: "Freak!" 

_Freak,_ the word echoed in his mind... 

And now, a week later, something weird and creepy has happened to him again. Confused and frightened, not knowing what might be wrong with him, the boy remains hidden from the voices of the whispering servants upstairs, trying hard to hold back his tears. After all, as his father liked to say, boys don't cry. 

____________________ 

Copse Valley, according to all who had been there before, was a grand, very magnificent sort of place. Lush, green hills surrounded the area on all sides, and a river originating from the mountains further up north cut an uneven line through the northwest hills, narrowing into a shallow stream in the lower valley where the ground sloped. Except for a large area west of the river, deciduous trees that formed the Copse Woods surrounded both sides of the waterway. A small town -- now with nearly two hundred years of history -- had been built on top of the cleared stretch of land on the river's west banks, and in the cool, bright summers, Copse Town enjoyed a prosperous flow of tourists. 

However, the biggest attraction of Copse Valley wasn't the highly stylized, old-fashioned town, nor was it the slanting hills and thick forests that seemed to invite picnics and romantic strolls. In fact, the main source of interest resided in a majestic castle several kilometres out of town. 

If one were to follow the Copse River southward, through the densely packed forest, and down several rocky inclines, one would eventually reach a small, glistening pond on the northeast corner of Woodchuck Park, the extensive patch of land that served as the castle's backyard. Directly adjacent to the pond, a few wooden steps led up to a silvery-white gazebo surrounded by a well-tended flower bed. Of most interest, through, was the immense herbal garden that took up nearly half of the yard: located in the south centre of the enclosure, the garden was the focal point of Woodchuck Park. If one were a botanist or an herbal specialist, some of the plants (such as rosemary, sage, and even the rare wormwood) may have been recognizable. For the most part, however, the herbs had obscure names like shrivelfig and fluxweed. 

However, despite the curiosity of the townspeople and tourists, not one of them were ever able to say in absolute terms what was in Woodchuck park. Some claimed to have seen a swimming pool the size of a football field; others claimed to have seen a rather ordinary tool shed; most, however, concurred that every time they reached the trees that surrounded Woodchuck Park, they were always reminded of urgent business that needed immediate attention, and so were forced to turn back without catching a glimpse of what was _really_ in the castle's vast backyard. 

Despite these minor setbacks, all agreed on the grandeur of the castle: like its backyard, the castle was enclosed and obscured by trees, but the front was only protected from curious eyes with a simple gate. Passersby were therefore afforded a clear, unobstructed view of a long driveway that led up to and around a small fountain. Near the entrance, the driveway broke off into two separate directions, one leading east behind the castle, and the other to the west. The entranceway had been pushed to the forefront so that the stairs and front doors jutted out. 

To the left and right of the doorway were two colossal windows that stretched from ground level up to the parapets. During the day, the windows' ruby red curtains were drawn aside, and if one were lucky, small figures could sometimes be seen scurrying up and down between the castle's three levels. At night, though, the heavy curtains remained closed, and the only signs of life came from the occasional outline of someone walking in front of the torch lights on the parapets. 

This area -- the castle, the Park behind the castle, and even the trees surrounding Park and castle -- was known as Woodchuck Estate. A family of three lived on this estate: Argil Woodchuck, the father; Hyacinth Woodchuck, the mother; and Olivier Woodchuck, their son. 

The father was an Englishman who had met the mother during a business trip to France. After a hasty courtship and an even hastier wedding, the two had a child on the day of their first anniversary. The mother, a frail, young woman, named their son after her deceased brother, Olivier. 

And so, for nearly six, wonderfully glorious years, the family of three lived blissfully in Woodchuck castle. But on the week of Olivier's sixth birthday, a vicious storm descended over Copse Valley. The wind blew sharply, and the rain that fell in torrents seemed to drive mercilessly into one's skin. Mrs. Woodchuck had gone into town earlier in the day to do some shopping, and when the storm blew in with such ferociousness, had found herself unable to leave the small clothing shop she had escaped into. 

While waiting for the storm to blow over, Mrs. Woodchuck struck up a conversation with a visiting tourist from her homeland. Talking to him, she realized that she truly missed France, and so on impulse, made an appointment to meet the French tourist again the next day. 

When she finally made her way home early in the morning, she was met with the strangest sight: her husband, back toward her, was on the driveway. Squinting, she noticed that an owl had begun its descent from the sky. The bird seemed to have a letter grasped in its claws, and to Mrs. Woodchuck's great astonishment, it dropped the letter into her husband's waiting hands. Mr. Woodchuck fumbled around with the letter for a few seconds before managing to unroll it. He took a while to read through the message, and then, to Mrs. Woodchuck's greater astonishment, he pulled out a long, approximately foot long stick, muttered something while waving it, and then -- 

The letter vanished. 

Mr. Woodchuck then proceeded to enter the house, but as he turned toward the door, caught sight of his wife. Her face was paler than usual, and her eyes were wide with shock and some other hidden emotion. He froze for a second before hastening to her side and helping her into the castle, whereupon he waved his wand (for she now recognized that it was indeed a wand), and a cup of steaming hot chocolate appeared out of nowhere. 

Afterward, when the empty cup had been laid aside, and a bit of colour had once again returned to her cheeks, he explained everything. 

That day, Mrs. Woodchuck discovered that her husband was a wizard. 

The following day, she met with the French tourist and never returned to Woodchuck Estate. 

____________________ 

When it became clear that Hyacinth Woodchuck would not be coming home, Mr. Woodchuck resolved to change the family name to Wood. He also decided that his son's French name reminded him too much of his lost love, and so, on the day of his sixth birthday, Olivier Woodchuck became Oliver Wood. 

____________________ 

"Why didn't you tell me?" the boy asked coldly. 

His father stared blankly at him. "Tell you what?" 

The boy tossed the incriminating letter onto his father's oak desk. "Why didn't you tell me I was a wizard? Why didn't you tell me _you_ were a wizard? Why didn't you tell me that the flying dishes, flying chairs, flying _everything_ were some kind of creepy side effect of being a freak of nature?" 

The father didn't reply. Instead, he picked up the letter, and after glancing at it, smiled thinly at his son. "Well, at least now I know you have actual magical potential. For a while there, I thought you'd never amount to anything better than spontaneous magical tantrums. Merlin knows I was scared stiff that your muggle of a mother had somehow contaminated our bloodline." 

The boy froze. "Mother? What about her? And what's a muggle?" 

His father sneered. "Muggles are non-magic humans, people like your mother. I don't know what ever came over me -- marrying someone out of the magic community." 

The boy stared searchingly into his father's eyes, and some of the anger seemed to leave him. "I'm sorry dad. I didn't mean to yell." He paused, before adding, "Was that why? I mean, did mother leave us because she knew? Because... she found out?" 

The father's face turned red. "You will _not_ mention her again. I forbid it. Now, if you don't mind, Oliver, _I_ have things to do, and _you_ need to be in bed. Tomorrow, we're heading out to buy your school supplies." Then, without answering his son's question, he turned and strolled out of the room. 

Oliver, however, already knew the answer to his question. His mother, a woman he remembered only vaguely, had left them because they were wizards. But it wasn't only his mother who had ran from him. A long time ago, when he'd still gone into town to try to make friends, a boy named Oafus had ran from him. He remembered now, with wry amusement, that Oafus had called him a freak. 

Squaring his shoulders, Oliver picked up the letter from his father's desk. He headed up the stairs to his room, and before falling asleep, resolved to hate every moment of every day at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

____________________ 

The next day, at around the same time that Oliver's father was pulling him into a fireplace to be "floo'd" somewhere called Diagon Alley (just the name, the Floo Network, made Oliver wonder about the stability of the Wizarding World's methods of transportation), another eleven year old boy was preparing for his first trip to Diagon Alley as a soon-to-be official Hogwarts student. 

Percy Weasley was a tall, scrawny, and rather bookish kind of boy. At present, though, with his wavy carrot-red hair in disarray, large brown eyes shining with anticipation, and wide, enthusiastic smile, he might've been considered fairly good- looking. Unfortunately, his face was usually hidden behind some book or other, so few ever realized what Percy Weasley really looked like. If he ever did smile (and if one were ever lucky enough to see him doing so), it was more often than not because the occasion called for it. At the moment, however, his smile was genuine. 

"Father," he called impatiently. "Hurry _up!_ We haven't got all day, you know?" 

"Yes, yes, Percy, but... Just a sec'," a muffled voice came from upstairs, followed by a loud thump. 

Exasperated, Percy stormed to the staircase, nearly tripping over the long, navy blue dress robe he'd donned on for the occasion. "Dad, _what_ are you doing? You _said_ we'd be going right after I finished breakfast, and I'm finished now, so let's go!" When all he got was more loud thumps, followed by a louder crash, he decided to investigate. Storming up the stairs, he started, "Dad, _what_ are you --" 

Percy stopped and stared. There, on the second landing, just outside his room, was his youngest brother, staring innocently up at him. His father, though, was scurrying around the room, waving his wand and casting spells left and right. And when Percy got a closer look at his room, he saw why. The books on all five of his bookcases had somehow toppled off the shelves, and one bookcase had actually fallen over on top of his desk. His set of quills had fallen onto the floor, and pieces of parchments could be seen fluttering onto the ground. A bottle of ink had tumbled off his desk and was currently making a circuit around his room, leaving intricate, inky black patterns trailing behind it. In other words, his usually spotless room was now in complete shambles. 

"Dad, what happened?" Percy asked calmly, if a little shrilly. 

Twisting around, Arthur Weasley smiled haphazardly. "Oh, Percy. Sorry son, but it looks like our visit to Diagon Alley may have to be delayed. Ron decided to choose this most inconvenient moment to display a spectacular show of his wizarding potential. Sorry about the mess... Although I suppose we should be relieved that Ron's finally shown us some of his magic. He's probably one of those late bloomeys the muggles talk about... " 

Percy, however, could care less if Ron was a squib, a bloomey, or the next Merlin. He just wanted to get his hands on his first year textbooks. "Dad, forget about the mess. We can clean it up when we get home, all right?" 

Mr. Weasley hesitated. "But your mom... if she sees this --" 

"She'd understand," Percy interrupted, and began dragging his father downstairs. "Besides, she'd be just as relieved as the rest of us, now that we know for sure Ron isn't a squib." 

Mr. Weasley continued dragging his feet all the way down the stairs, but when he found himself inside the kitchen and in front of the fireplace, with Percy already pulling out a jar of floo powder, he could only shrug helplessly. Reaching for the jar, he said, "Well, you remember how to use this, right? Just take a pinch -- mind you, _just_ a pinch -- and then --" 

"Yes, yes, dad," Percy broke in impatiently, tossing his bit of powder into the fireplace. The flames had barely turned an emerald shade of green when Percy stuck a foot in, yelling eagerly, "Diagon Alley!" 

As he watched his son disappear into the fire, Arthur Weasley shook his head incredulously. "That boy," he muttered as he tossed in his own portion of floo powder, "is unbelievable. With all the books he's read, you'd think he would know better than to flap those arms around in the Floo Network." 

Sighing in resignation, he called out Diagon Alley, stepped into the green flames, and soon found himself swept up in a dizzying ride. 

____________________ 

"_One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ by Phyllida Spore," Oliver read, while rubbing at his right elbow. "I'm going to be working with herbs and _fungi_? This has got to be a joke. Are you telling me I'm going to some so-called magic school to play in the dirt?" 

Argil Wood frowned at his son, momentarily distracted from his search for the Flourish and Blotts bookstore. "You're going to be using herbs and fungi to make potions. And for your information, the herbs and fungi are cleaned of dirt before being sold. The wizarding world isn't so far removed from the muggle world, you know? Customers still appreciate quality products and customer service." 

Oliver snorted. "Well, you could've fooled me. The guy back at that Quality Broomsticks store sure was in a hurry to get me out of there. As if I would even _think_ of stealing a _broom_." 

His father shot him another look. "The store's called Quality _Quidditch Supplies_, and I would appreciate it if you would stop criticizing every little thing in Diagon Alley. This is part of your world now. It might do you some good if you tried to enjoy this trip." 

Oliver rolled his eyes, but he dropped the subject. Instead, he started complaining about how long it was taking him to buy all his school supplies. "Dad, we've gotten lost three times. Don't you know your way around?" 

"I haven't been here for nearly five years, and some things have changed, all right?" Mr. Wood shot back in exasperation. "Honestly, it might help if _you_ looked for it too, instead of being difficult and complicating matters --" 

"Is that the one?" Oliver interrupted, pointing at a shop several stores down the street. "Something seems to be going on over there." 

Indeed, the shop which Oliver had correctly assumed to be Flourish and Blotts was surrounded by people. Most of them were female, but quite a large crowd of men had formed around the shop as well. On the store's doorstep stood a man who appeared to be the shopkeeper, and he was frantically waving his arms. As Oliver and his father approached, they overheard his desperate pleads to the crowd. "Please, I must remind you all that Mr. Lockhart's book signing does not begin until four in the evening. Until then, please make room for _actual_ book buyers." 

Beside him, Oliver felt his father stiffen. "Of all the days he chose to do a book signing, why today?" Oliver was about to ask him what he meant by that, when his father handed him a sachet full of gold galleons, pushing him in the direction of the shop. "Go find your books. I'll wait for you out here." 

As Oliver watched his father turn away, he thought he heard him muttering something about a lying, cheating, good-for-nothing scumbag. 

____________________ 

"_The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ by Quentin Trimble," Percy frowned as he browsed the bookshelves. "The book should be here if everything's alphabetically arranged." He moved further down the row of books, neck craned as he tried to make out the titles of the books on some of the higher shelves. So absorbed was he in his search, that when he bumped into someone behind him, he barely even noticed. "Sorry," he mumbled, sidestepping the other person as he continued his way down the aisle. 

"Well, you _should_ be sorry!" a voice called after him. "You made me drop all my books!" 

Percy turned, startled. "Oh, I'm sorry, were you talking to me?" 

The boy glared at him. "Well, _duh_! Who else bumped into me? A ghost? A goblin? Or wait, maybe it was the great Merlin himself!" Rolling his eyes angrily, the boy leant over and began picking up his books. 

It was then that Percy noticed the boy's strange attire. He was wearing a pair of very loose, neon green pants with three vertical stripes running along the side of each leg. His shirt was of a similar colour, except the stripes ran across the shirt arms, and emblazoned across the chest area, on the shirt's left side was the word, adidas. _He must come from a muggle family, and that's probably a badge of some sort,_ Percy mused. _Bill and Charles had something like that on their school clothes, to identify them by their house names. So,_ Percy deducted, _Adidas must be his name._ Pleased that he had solved the puzzle, Percy tried to make amends. "I apologize, Adidas. Really, I was in the midst of looking for a book, and didn't see you. I'm Percy Weasley, by the way, and I'll be going to Hogwarts this year. Are you a first year student as well?" 

Expecting to be forgiven (after all, in his opinion, it really had been a very excellent apology), Percy was surprised when the boy shot him a murderous look. "Oh, so you think it's funny, huh? Making fun of me and my clothes because I know nothing about wizards and witches and magical stuff. Wait 'till we start school. Then we'll see who's laughing, Mr. Know-it-all." 

The boy stormed off, leaving Percy stunned and a little hurt. Had he said something wrong? Maybe Adidas was a squib and by asking him if he was a Hogwarts student, he'd somehow upset the other boy? Sighing, Percy turned back to the bookshelves, and as he did, caught sight of a sign hanging from the ceiling. It read: _For all Hogwarts related textbooks, please enquire at the special services counter. Thank you._

Sighing again, Percy made his way to the back of the store where the counter was located. As he walked underneath the notice, he glared up at it in admonishment. _Why didn't you show up earlier, you lousy excuse for a sign? You made me hurt Adidas's feelings._

____________________ 

"...And then afterward, he had the nerve to call me Adidas! I mean, I may not know much about wizards and whatnot, but did he have to make fun of my clothes? And just because I wasn't wearing depressing funeral cloaks and gravity-defying hats, he doesn't have the right to tease me!" Oliver ranted as he and his father made their way down Diagon Alley toward their last stop, Ollivander's. 

Mr. Wood glanced at his son in amusement. "That other boy probably hasn't had much exposure to muggle lifestyle. He probably comes from a long line of wizard families." 

Oliver tossed his head indignantly. "I don't care," he huffed. 

His father smiled, and in an attempt to change the subject, dragged his son over to a makeshift ice cream shop. "Pick any flavour," he prompted. "It's my treat, for being invited to attend the best, and only, school of witchcraft and wizardry in England." 

Oliver looked at his father, startled. Ever since his mother had left them nearly five years ago, he couldn't remember his dad ever looking so relaxed. "Are you sure?" he asked hesitantly. 

Argil looked at his son, lips twitching in amusement. "Yes, I'm sure. Just as long as you don't order triple scoop chocolate ice cream like you did when you were five years old." 

Oliver laughed. He remembered the occasion his father spoke of, and it had truly been a complete disaster. The midday sun, combined with scorching temperatures and his tortoise-like speed when eating ice cream, had resulted in his hands being bathed in a chocolate river. Naturally, his father wouldn't want to repeat the incident, and naturally, Oliver would. Grinning, he whispered his order to the ice cream man, and much to his delight, his father shot him a mock look of horror as Oliver received his quadruple scoop chocolate ice cream cone. 

Making their way down the street again, with his father maintaining a safe distance from him and his ice cream, Oliver said, "I'm glad we came out today. I mean, I don't think this magic thing is for me at all, but it was fun spending the day with you." He hesitated before adding hurriedly, "It kinda' reminds me of the way things used to be when mom was still around." 

Immediately, he knew that it had been the wrong thing to say. His father made a jerky motion with his head, as if he'd been startled or knocked in the forehead by something, and his lips thinned noticeably. Instead of responding to Oliver's comment, he quickened his pace. "Let's hurry up," he muttered stiffly. "We still need to get your wand." 

Oliver bit his lower lip. 

At that very moment, he was sure that he would have given up all the wands in the world to turn back time. 

____________________ 

Author's Notes: Well, this is my first ever fanfic for the Harry Potter fandom, and first ever slash fic as well, so any and all types of feedback will be appreciated. =) Do let me know if there are any problems with formatting, canon issues, and things that don't make the story flow (i.e. spelling errors, sentences that don't make sense, etc.). 

It has also been brought to my attention that Lockhart doesn't show up until the second book in the series. I realize that, but under the assumption that he's been an established "writer" (ahemplagiarizerahem) for a while, my fanfic has him showing up approximately six years before canon. 

I'm aiming to post a new chapter once every week (some time between Friday and Monday), and the Percy/Oliver Writers Support Network at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/POWSN/ will get new chapters a week before they get posted onto fanfiction.net. (In a sense, that entire ML is my beta... ^___^;;;) 

So, until next weekend...!   
-- Mang Guo 


	2. A Meeting of Sorts

Please note that this is a slash story, with Percy Weasley and Oliver Wood as the focal pairing. In other words, there will be two, gay, fictional male characters falling in love (i.e. homosexuality). Do not read this fanfic if you are against this particular type of coupling. 

Disclaimer: The _Harry Potter_ series and all related products is the copyright of J. K. Rowling, Warner Bros., and various companies I don't know about. This fanfic is intended for entertainment purposes and is not for profit. No copyright violation was intended. The storyline and any original characters that show up in this fanfic is the property of Mang Guo. Please do not post or reproduce this fanfic in any form without my consent. 

____________________ 

Chapter Two: A Meeting of Sorts 

The morning of the first of September dawned far too early in Oliver's opinion. Despite his attempts to remain stoic about his impending trip to a magic school, he had found himself reorganizing his suitcase several times the previous night. At one point, he'd actually been oscillating between bringing pyjamas with vertical stripes and pyjamas with horizontal ones. His father, after sticking his head into the room to see why Oliver's lights were still on at two in the morning, had immediately put an end to the whole affair. 

What followed had surprised Oliver immensely: following the trip to Diagon Alley a week ago, his relationship with his father had returned to its pre-invitation-to-Hogwarts state, with Oliver starting polite, formal conversations at the dining table, and Argil responding in a cool, distant fashion. So, when his father had told Oliver to bring both pyjamas, and then proceeded to show him how a suitcase might be expanded with a wave of one's wand, Oliver was decidedly impressed. What ensued was a lengthy discussion about what life at Hogwarts was like. 

By the end of the conversation, Oliver was sniggering as his father described rather ruefully -- and with a pained expression on his face -- the time when he'd been caught sneaking out after curfew. Apparently, a professor had been wandering the halls when a nutcracker in a portrait had asked the teacher in an off-handed manner whether he'd seen a boy heading to the Griffyndor common room. What followed had been a rather silly pursuit in which Argil had tried to outrun the teacher. Unfortunately, the clamour that resulted from the chase had awoken quite a few sleeping portraits, and so they were more than happy to assist the professor in catching him. 

Oliver raised an eyebrow in mock amazement. "_You_, father? Sneaking out after curfew? I wouldn't have thought it was possible." 

Argil snorted, giving his son a light punch in the shoulder. "Hey, I used to be young, too." 

"Sure," Oliver drawled, casting his father's greying hair a doubtful glance. Grinning, he asked, "So you were in Griffyndor? Was it easy to make friends?" 

His father paused, looking thoughtful before answering slowly, "Well, it's far easier making friends with those from your own house. I've found, though, that some of the more meaningful friendships I've formed have been with people from other houses." He hesitated before continuing. "You'll find that there might be some animosity between houses, but you really shouldn't let such petty things as house rivalries impede you from making friends with different types of people." 

Oliver looked at his father curiously. "Did _you_ make any friends with people in other houses?" 

Argil remained silent for a while, and Oliver was just beginning to think he'd said something wrong again, when his father replied quietly, "Yes, I suppose I did become quite close to a couple students from another house. I've lost contact with one of them, and the other... Well, the other is usually too busy, but we keep in touch." Clearing his throat, he glanced at his son, then at the clock on the nightstand, and smiling faintly, he said, "Enough about my adventures. You better get to sleep soon, if you're to start any adventures of your own tomorrow... Today, if I'm to be precise." 

Oliver frowned, but reluctantly gave in to the yawn that told him he really was quite tired. "Wake me up when it's time, all right?" he murmured as his dad tucked the blankets around his shoulders. 

His father nodded in response, but the gesture was lost on Oliver, who had already closed his eyes. For several minutes, Argil Wood sat on the bed, listening to his son's breathing gradually slow down. But when he stroked his wand, and it responded with a faint, warm tingling, he was reminded of why he'd been walking by his son's room in the first place. Sighing, he stood up, turned off the bedroom lights, and left Oliver to his dreams of Hogwarts. 

____________________ 

When Percy Weasley found himself on Platform Nine and Three Quarters, waiting for his mom to bring his younger siblings across the barrier, he was rather startled by the realization that he was nervous. He'd received first hand accounts about Hogwarts from Charlie, who'd graduated from there two years ago. Any other missing details had been filled in by a fairly recently published book entitled _Hogwarts: A History_. Still, when he saw the platform bustling with students, most of whom already had house badges pinned to their cloaks, he was quite relieved that his mother had insisted on accompanying him to the train station. 

As he strayed away from the barrier to get a closer look at the other kids, he inadvertently got in the way of another student. Just as he opened his mouth to apologize, the other boy snarled, "You again!" 

Percy took a double take, and to his chagrin, realized that it was the same boy he'd bumped into at the bookstore in Diagon Alley. "Oh, Adidas! I'm really sorry," he started. "and not because I bumped into you just now -- although I _am_ sorry about that! -- but because I had no idea you were a squib. If I did, I wouldn't have mentioned Hogwarts. Really, it was an honest --" 

"There! See, dad? I _told_ you the guy was making fun of me. First, he calls me Adidas. Now he calls me a _squib_," the boy interrupted harshly while gesturing at someone behind him. Only then did Percy realize Adidas wasn't alone. 

Turning to the other man, he apologized, "You must be Adidas's father. I'm sorry if I hurt your son's feelings. I hadn't intended to." 

The other man smiled. "Actually, my son's name is Oliver. You must be mistaking him for someone else. And," he added, "he's not a squib. He's actually starting his first year at Hogwarts today. I'm Argil Wood by the way." He then stuck his hand out, all the while smiling in a rather amused sort of way. 

Percy automatically took the proffered hand, all the while trying to register what the other man had just said. If the boy's name was Oliver, that meant his name wasn't Adidas, which meant... Oh. _Oh_. He could feel his face warming up. Stammering, he replied, "Pleased-pleased to meet you, Mr. Wood. I'm Percy Weasley. It'll be my first year at Hogwarts too." He paused before saying hurriedly, "I do hope your son and I can be good friends." 

Oliver muttered something incoherent, and his father shot him a look before turning back to Percy. "Did you say your name was Percy _Weasley_?" he asked. "Are you, by any chance, related to one Arthur Weasley?" 

Percy nodded. "Do you know my dad?" he asked eagerly, hoping that an association of sorts would mend the obvious rift between him and Oliver. "He works at the Ministry of Magic in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. Do you work at the Ministry, too?" 

Mr. Wood seemed to swallow something that sounded very much like a cross between a laugh and a snort before replying carefully, "No, I don't work at the Ministry, but I do know your father. We've -- how should I put this? -- ran across each other several times in the past. Business, you know?" 

Percy didn't know, but he nodded, and was about to reply when he was interrupted by his mom calling from behind him. "There you are, Percy! I thought I told you not to move. There are far too many people here, and you could get lost -- oh, hello. Is this a friend of yours?" 

Percy sighed. Turning to his mom, he started the round of introductions. When he repeated Argil Wood's name a second time for his mom, she seemed to start slightly before smiling uncertainly. "Ah, so you're the Argil Wood I've heard so much about. We've missed you here in the Wizarding World. How are you doing these days?" 

Argil paused before responding vaguely. "Oh, I'm not doing too bad. Business, you know, is as good as usual. It takes up quite a bit of my time, but..." he trailed off with a shrug. 

Mrs. Weasley nodded in reply, and what followed was a rather long, uncomfortable silence. Thankfully, Oliver tugged at his father's sleeve, stating in a rather annoyed voice, "Let's _go_, dad. We still have to get my suitcase on board." 

Smiling apologetically at Mrs. Weasley, Argil tipped his head slightly. "If you'll excuse us," and then, without waiting for a response, he turned to lead his son in the direction of the Hogwarts Express. 

Mrs. Weasley watched father and son walking away in contemplative silence before turning to Percy. "Well, _that_ was certainly interesting! Argil Wood goes into hiding for half a decade and pops up one day to bring his son to Hogwarts. If the rumour mills at the Daily Prophet get a hold of _this_, things will certainly get interesting." 

"What do you mean?" Percy asked curiously, pushing his trolley stacked high with suitcases while glaring at his younger twin brothers who were throwing around Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. "Do you know Mr. Wood?" 

Mrs. Weasley shook her head. "No, though I wish I did. From all accounts he's a romantic -- and a brave one at that! Argil, you see," she began, "belongs to a long line of pureblood wizards. They have nearly two hundred years of history, I believe. Anyway, according to some rather unreliable sources, he married a Muggle years and years ago." 

"And that made him brave and romantic?" Percy asked sceptically. 

His mom laughed, poking her son in the head. "No, silly! But think about it: You-Know-Who was rising to power during that time. For someone from a pureblood family to marry a Muggle would be like inviting You-Know-Who to curse your entire family. Furthermore, Argil didn't even attempt to hold the marriage in secret. Don't you think that's a rather brave and romantic thing to do?" 

Percy shrugged, already losing interest in the story as he approached the train's first car. Stepping around his trolley, he began unloading his bags. Turning to his twin brothers, he said sharply, "Fred! George! Mom didn't bring you with us so that you two can fool around. Help me out with my bags." 

The twins rolled their eyes, and in unison, began chanting, "Bossy Percy needs help with his smelly baggies! Bossy Percy needs help with his smelly baggies! Bo-ssy Per-cy! Bo-ssy Per-cy!" 

Percy grit his teeth as he tried to push a particularly heavy trunk off the luggage pile. "I can't believe how immature you guys are. If all you two can do -- oh, for Merlin's sake!" he yelled as his suitcases tumbled off the trolley, missing his head by mere inches. The twins began chortling and poking each other in the ribs, and Percy, already feeling high-strung from his meeting with Oliver Wood, whirled on them. His face quickly turned a livid shade of red as he hissed furiously, "Are you two having fun yet? Huh? I'm asking you -- _are you guys having fun yet_? In case you haven't noticed, my suitcases almost fell on my head while I tried to unload them by myself. And what were you two doing the whole time? Throwing around _candy_ and making up silly rhymes! Is there even a slim chance that you guys might stop messing around long enough to be productive? If not, I'd appreciate it if you two would just _get lost_!" 

By the time Percy had finished his rant, Fred and George were gaping at him, eyes wide with surprise. They had originally set out to annoy their older brother, but now, it seemed as if Percy really _was_ angry. 

Mrs. Weasley sighed and stepped between Percy and the twins, glaring at Fred and George as she pulled out her wand to levitate the luggage off of the ground. "You two stay here and watch Ron. I'll help Percy with his trunks." She sighed again, muttering to herself, "Really, I should've just left you two at home. You'd think I would know better by now..." 

George opened his mouth as if he had something smart to say in response, but after a sharp jab by Fred in the stomach, decided against it. Instead, he smiled wanly and took Ron by the hand. "Of course, mom," he said to Mrs. Weasley's departing back. "We'll be right here when you get back." 

____________________ 

"Percy, dear," Mrs. Weasley said hesitatingly as her son began climbing into the Hogwarts Express. "Is something wrong? I've never seen you get quite so upset over Fred and George's teasing. You know that they didn't mean any harm, don't you?" 

Percy sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "Yes, mom. They never mean any harm." he murmured. "I guess it's the first year jitters, you know? And to top it off, I think I've already made an enemy... I don't think Oliver Wood likes me very much." 

Mrs. Weasley looked at her son in surprise. "You mean that little boy who was with Argil Wood? Why would you think that? He didn't seem to have anything against you." 

Percy sighed again. His mom hadn't been with him in the bookstore, and she'd missed half the conversation with Oliver when his trolley had bumped into the other boy. She wouldn't understand. Forcing a smile, he laughed lightly. "You know what, mom? You're right -- why _wouldn't_ Oliver Wood like me? I'm probably just paranoid... Guess I stayed up too late last night, trying out spells and panicking when they didn't work." 

Mrs. Weasley smiled at her son. "That's probably it. And as for those spells not working, don't worry about it! You're as smart as Bill when he was your age -- maybe even smarter. As a matter of fact, I wouldn't be surprised if we had another Head Boy in the family seven years down the road. Now," her smile broadened, "come give your mother a goodbye kiss." 

Percy blushed, and like the eleven year old that he was, started complaining, "Mom," he whined even as he threw his arms around his mother's waist. "I don't do the hugs and kisses thing anymore, you know that." 

Mrs. Weasley laughed, leaning over to plant a firm kiss on her son's forehead. "Now, why do I find that hard to believe?" Hugging him again, she whispered, "Well, I guess I won't embarrass you in front of your new classmates, so I'll tell you really, really quietly: I'll miss you." 

Percy smiled and he replied softly, "I'll miss you too, mom. Don't forget to pick me up for the Christmas holidays." 

With a final kiss on the forehead, Mrs. Wesley let go of her son, steering him up onto the train. "Send us an owl once you get to Hogwarts! And remember to study hard! You're to be the next Head Boy in our family, you know?" 

Something flickered across Percy's face before he laughed flippantly. "Of course, mom. Why, it's practically a given!" 

Mrs. Weasley stood on the platform for a few more minutes, waving and making faces at her son through the window. When the train finally began pulling out of the station, Percy's waving became slightly more frantic, and the last words his mother heard before he rolled out of earshot was a faint, "I love you." 

As the Hogwarts Express turned a corner and moved out of sight, Molly Weasley sighed. Most of the time, when Percy talked, it was in a very mature, very grown up fashion. But occasionally, as was the case when he'd called out to her as the train rolled out of the station, she was reminded of the fact that deep down, he was just an eleven year old boy. 

But still... The thought of another Head Boy in the family made her slightly giddy, and even as she noticed the twins throwing the last of their jelly beans at Ron, she couldn't help but smile at the thought. _Two_ Head Boys... 

____________________ 

On the Hogwarts Express, in a compartment near the end of the train and away from the excited chattering and hubbub of other first year students, Percy Weasley had slumped into his seat. He was running over his conversation with his mother, and everything focused on her last words. "I just might," he murmured expressionlessly. "I just might be the next Head Boy in the family." His breath hitched, and he turned to the window, taking care to stare unblinkingly at the scenery rushing past. 

A long time ago, someone had told him that blinking only made the tears come faster. 

____________________ 

Author's Notes: Hi everyone! (Mang Guo looks around.) If there's even an 'everyone'... ^^;;; Anyway, hopefully, this chapter came out okay. Do let me know what you think, since I'm trying to improve my creative writing skills. As for my personal take on this chapter... Ughhh... It didn't turn out the way I expected. The first half was going fine, and the last half was a total struggle. (Can you guys tell?) Anyway, again, I await your flames, feedback and speculations with bated breath. =) 

Until next weekend...!   
-- Mang Guo 


	3. The Predicting Portrait

Please note that this is a slash story, with Percy Weasley and Oliver Wood as the focal pairing. In other words, there will be two, gay, fictional male characters falling in love (i.e. homosexuality). Do not read this fanfic if you are against this particular type of coupling. 

Disclaimer: The _Harry Potter_ series and all related products is the copyright of J. K. Rowling, Warner Bros., and various companies I don't know about. This fanfic is intended for entertainment purposes and is not for profit. No copyright violation was intended. The storyline and any original characters that show up in this fanfic is the property of Mang Guo. Please do not post or reproduce this fanfic in any form without my consent. 

____________________ 

Chapter Three: The Predicting Portrait 

Oliver had been thinking that the whole thing -- from the owl that had dropped the Hogwarts letter on his head to the magical trip down Diagon Alley -- was a hoax. Even as he'd made his way through the invisible barrier at Platform Nine and Three Quarters, he'd wondered if he was the butt of some sick joke; that maybe, someone really wanted to hit home the freakiness of being able to levitate objects -- rubbing salt in the wounds, so to speak. But then, he'd found himself on the Hogwarts Express, with two other students dressed similarly in billowing cloaks sitting in his compartment. After introducing themselves, they had started a conversation with him, and when the wands were pulled out, Oliver knew that it was all very, very real. 

At the moment, he was listening to Rhys Von, a burly boy with a shocking amount of short, tight curls nested on top of a rather square head. "You see," Rhys was saying, carelessly twirling his wand along his fingers. "What you need to know is that kids like us are sent to Hogwarts to, ah, establish connections. Of course, you'll come across others who claim otherwise -- you know, the ones who think school's actually for learning -- but trust me, even _they_ have their own agendas." 

Oliver raised an eyebrow sceptically. "I don't know, Rhys. That sounds pretty far-fetched to me. You make Hogwarts sound like the training grounds for undercover agents or something." 

Rhys's eyes lit up brightly. "But that's exactly it! Well, close enough anyway. Except that instead of undercover agents, it's more like underage businessmen." 

"Whatever," Oliver scoffed. "I think you've failed first year far too many times -- was it twice, you said? -- and you've got things mixed up. Besides, my father wouldn't send me to a place for -- what did you call it? Underage businessmen?" 

Rhys opened his mouth to give an angry retort, but Gareth Codaye, the boy on his right, gave him a sharp nudge. "Oh, shut up Rhys! You're doing a horrible job of explaining things." Turning back to Oliver, the shaggy-haired blond smiled roguishly. "Tell me, Oliver, didn't you say you went to Muggle schools for years and years before you found out you were a wizard?" 

Oliver nodded slowly, "But what does that have to do with --" 

"It has _everything_ to do with Hogwarts!" Gareth interrupted. Rummaging around in his bags, he pulled out a small vial of white, cloudy liquid. Unplugging the container, he held it out to Oliver. "Here, take a sip." 

Oliver reached for the vial, but made no move to drink it. Instead, he sniffed at the liquid, asking suspiciously, "What is it?" 

The other two boys grinned at each other, and Rhys replied, "Gareth likes to call it Edenic Visions, but really, that's just a fancy name for a booster, a pick-me-upper, so to speak. Take a sip," he urged. "It'll make you feel a _lot_ better, trust me. And you _did_ say that you were nervous about Hogwarts, didn't you?" 

Oliver hesitated, and very nearly turned the mysterious drink down, when he saw that the other two boys had each pulled out a similar phial of hazy liquid from their bags. Gareth raised his eyebrows at Oliver, as if to egg him on, and then downed the whole vial in one swig. Rhys followed suit. When nothing disastrous seemed to happen, Oliver shrugged. _Well,_ he thought, _might as well give it a shot._ And then he, too, knocked back the contents of the container with a toss of his head, unconsciously imitating Rhys and Gareth. 

At first, nothing happened. He didn't feel anything different, didn't feel any better or any less nervous, and was about to say so. However, just as he prepared to lash out at the other two boys for tricking him, the inside of the compartment seemed to tilt, and suddenly, the world changed on him. 

Years later, when Oliver tried to recall what happened that day, the day he'd taken his first dose of Edenic Visions, he felt a pang of regret. It had been his first day at Hogwarts, his first day in his new life, and all he could remember were drug-induced visions of curvaceous figures and cackling hags. 

But at the time, he didn't mind. 

All he cared about was how great he felt. The train's rocking motion seemed to intensify, and Oliver found himself swaying lethargically to its rhythm. The landscape soaring past the window blurred into brilliant hues of blues, greens, and blinding whites. And, he found that he wasn't nervous about Hogwarts anymore. In fact, he was quickly becoming convinced that he would do perfectly fine in his new school. 

"Whoa," he stared, pointing shakily at the area above Rhys's head where a ghostly figure hung. The edges of its face was blurred so that it resembled an amoeba. Its blank eyes glowed a dazzling neon green, but when Oliver stared too long, he found that the green was really a multitude of tiny little polka dots. It had a silly grin on its face, and had five spikes of thin wire for hair. "What _is_ that thing?" 

Rhys grinned, tilting his head from side to side. "Well, whatever it is, it can't compare to the piece of skirt hanging over _your_ head! Now, that's what I call one sexy babe. Check out those nice bubbies." 

Oliver felt himself blush with embarrassment, and Gareth burst out laughing. "Rhys, chill with the dirty talk! Oliver's too young for that kind of stuff." 

Oliver frowned and began to protest, when he noticed that blood was beginning to drip out of the amoeba look-alike's mouth. He watched in fascination as the crimson goo dribbled down its chin and landed on Rhys's head. Then he began giggling. It wasn't a normal laugh, and he idly wondered why he sounded so high pitched, but he didn't care. And when the other two boys began giggling with him, he thought bemusedly that he'd never had so much fun in his life. 

____________________ 

Oliver woke up to find himself sprawled on the floor of the compartment with Gareth's shoeless foot in his face. He groaned and tried to pull himself up, but a wave of dizziness hit him and he was forced to lie back down. Through a receding hazy fog of confusion, he thought he heard a voice announce the train's arrival at Hogsmeade station. Groaning again, he forced himself up, pushing Gareth's foot off his chest and leaning on the windowsill for support. The compartment's walls swirled around in dizzying colours. The floor underneath his feet swayed back and forth. 

He was going to be sick. 

"Man, if you're going to throw up, do it out in the hall or something." 

Oliver turned to glare at Rhys, careful to move his head slowly to reduce the woozy effect. "What the heck did you give me? I feel like I've been run over by a herd of elephants." 

Rhys attempted a smile, but it ended up more of a grimace. Wincing, he reached for his bag, and after fumbling around, retrieved several small vials of what appeared to be more Edenic Visions. Oliver stared incredulously at the other boy as he unstopped one of the bottles and greedily drank its contents. "Are you out of your mind?" Oliver asked. "Do you _want_ to feel like..." Oliver struggled for the right word before resorting to something more uncouth, "Like a load of crap?" 

Rhys raised his now empty phial as if he was toasting Oliver. "Congratulations. You're finally speaking like the rest of us regular human beings. I was beginning to wonder if rich Daddy Wood had overdone it with the English tutors." 

Oliver flushed in anger. "Are you implying something? I'll have you know that I'm just as normal as the rest of you." 

Rhys rolled his eyes and said sarcastically, "Oh, yeah, and that's why you use big words like 'implying', huh? Right. Keep fooling yourself and maybe --" 

"Oh, jack it in you two! You're giving me a headache." The two boys turned to where Gareth was blearily opening his eyes. "Here, Rhys, give me a bit of that stuff. And give the kid a vial -- if not for his sake, at least for the sake of my sanity." 

Rhys wordlessly handed over one of the phials to his friend, and after observing Oliver's miserable state, reluctantly handed over a bottle to him as well. "Here," he gestured. "Take it. It's a bit of Edenic Visions mixed in with some herbs. Good herbs. It'll help with that headache of yours. Trust me." 

Oliver stared searchingly at the other boy, and when he detected no obvious signs of deception, grudgingly took the vial. "Thanks," he muttered as he took a swig. "And sorry about earlier. I admit, I _have_ kind of lived a... a sheltered life." 

Rhys shrugged carelessly, "Nothing to it. Friends?" He held out his hand. 

Oliver hesitated before grasping the outstretched hand. "Friends," he conceded. Then he grinned, "I have to admit though, that stuff you gave me was brilliant. I mean, I don't feel too good _now_, but before... _Way_ intense." 

"It _was_ brilliant, wasn't it?" Rhys agreed. "And, if you stick around long enough, I promise you there'll be better stuff." 

Oliver was about to reply when the door to their compartment slid open and an irate-looking boy stepped in. It took Oliver a moment before he realized that the boy was Percy Weasley. Scowling, he asked, "What do you think you're doing?" 

The red-haired boy frowned. "In case you haven't noticed, we've arrived. The guide leading us down to Hogwarts told me to come in and check on you guys when someone mentioned that a group of students still hadn't left their compartment. The rest of us first years are waiting for you outside." He turned to look at the other two boys, and his frown deepened. "You're not first years..." 

Gareth grinned and pulled himself off the seat, straightening his clothes and running a hand through his hair. "That's right. We're in our third year, though technically, we really should be in our sixth. But," he shrugged. "I suppose failing first year two times, and then failing second year another two times eventually adds up." 

Percy looked as if he was about to rebuff the older boy when Oliver stepped in. "Look, Mr. Know-it-All Weasley -- you delivered your message, and we're ready to go, so if you don't mind..." He waved in the direction of the door, glowering in annoyance at the red-haired boy. 

Looking as if he was unsure of what to do, Percy finally nodded curtly before strolling out of the compartment. 

Oliver sighed as he noticed the two older boys' questioning stares. "You know him?" Rhys asked. 

"'Know' does not even begin to describe how much I detest that guy," Oliver replied crossly as he struggled to pull on his cloak. 

Rhys glanced at Gareth, who glanced back at him, and raising their eyebrows in unison, the two boys prodded Oliver for more details. And so, in the few minutes it took for them to prepare to leave the train, Oliver explained in a brisk, clipped manner his two previous meetings with the other student. By the time the three boys descended the steps of Hogwarts Express, they had decided to make Percy Weasley's life at Hogwarts as wretched as possible. 

____________________ 

As Percy stormed down the hall, he wondered why he'd even bothered. When the big, bulky guide -- he'd said he was Rubeus Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper -- had asked if there were anymore first year students, a group of girls had said that one of the compartments had remained closed, and that someone might have slept through the arrival. When Percy looked around, he knew instantly that Oliver was probably one of the missing first years, and in the hopes of befriending the other boy, had immediately volunteered to help look for him. As it turned out, Oliver had quite obviously _not_ needed his friendship. 

Embarrassed at his own stupidity, he stumbled down the train steps and soon became conscious of thirty or so heads swivelling around to face him. Already feeling humiliated from his encounter with Oliver Wood, he was in no mood to be at the centre of attention. After informing Hagrid that Oliver and the other two students would be joining them soon, he retreated to the back of the group, hoping that he would be left alone to wallow in his embarrassment. Hagrid had other ideas. Frowning, the gamekeeper motioned him to the front of the group, and after some prompting, Percy reluctantly made his way over to Hagrid. "Other students? Did you say there were other students in the compartment and that they weren't first years?" 

Percy nodded. "Yeah, but I only spoke with one of them. He said he'd failed both first year and second year twice over. I didn't catch his name, though." 

Hagrid's frown seemed to deepen, and he stroked his beard. "I hope it's not _those_ two," he murmured. 

At that moment, the three boys came tumbling down the steps of the Hogwarts Express, and the boy that Percy had spoken to grinned ruefully. "Hey, Hagrid. How was your summer?" 

Scowling, Hagrid tossed his head in the direction where the platform disappeared around a bend. "You two know the drill. They'll be waiting for you guys." 

The two older boys nodded and after turning to say something to Oliver, left the group of first year students with Hagrid. As they walked by, Percy thought they didn't look too steady on their feet. Shrugging indifferently, he turned to follow Hagrid down a tight, muddy path, and as he did, caught sight of the cold look Oliver shot in his direction. 

____________________ 

After Hagrid left the first year students in a small, tucked-away chamber near the Great Hall, Percy prepared himself for a long, tedious wait. He knew all about the Sorting Ceremony, and wasn't half as nervous as the other first years. He also didn't care very much for the Quidditch conversations going on around him, and soon found himself standing against a wall by himself. All in all, he was bored stiff. 

So when a student off to the side had made the initial observation, he had naturally been curious for lack of something better to do. 

At first, nobody really cared. They were, after all, just a bunch of portraits, and although they fascinated the few students who came from Muggle families, most of the first years were far more concerned about the upcoming sorting. However, when one of the pictures started drawing a rather large crowd, things got a little more interesting. 

The portraits -- five of them, each on top of the other, with the bottom one leaning diagonally against the wall -- didn't look particularly special at first glance. In fact, the topmost picture was a rather hideous rendering of a sleeping sphinx. Or at least, it had appeared to be sleeping. After several prods of the wand by a bored first year, the sphinx had opened an eye, and staring keenly at the startled boy for a couple of seconds, had proceeded to make a horrific prediction: "You will fall in love with a hag who has onion breath." 

At first, the surrounding people had thought the prediction a riot, and several others had poked the portrait in an attempt to have the sphinx prophesy something. Strangely, though, as the sphinx slowly roused itself out of slumber, the predictions became less and less ridiculous, and more and more ominous. By the time Percy had made his way over to the front of the crowd, a frightened girl was sobbing as the sphinx inferred that in ten years, a close friend of hers would die alone and disfigured in a magical fire. 

Frowning, Percy stepped in between the girl and the portrait, turning to look at the crowd of first years. "There's no need to get worried about these silly predictions. There's probably no truth to what the portrait is saying. Besides, everyone knows that sphinxes speak in riddles, so you can never trust what they say. And, this sphinx isn't even speaking in riddles -- which means it's most likely a fake, and who cares what a fake sphinx has to say, right?" 

His question was met with a moment of silence, when from behind him, the silky voice of the sphinx asked, "Would you like a prediction, young man?" 

Percy turned to face the portrait. "No, thank you, but I appreciate the offer anyway." 

The sphinx blinked slowly, and to Percy's surprise, it said, "Hm, well, even if you don't want a prediction, I'd like to give you one. You're one of the most fascinating humans I've come across in half a century, so if you'll oblige me..." And without waiting for a response, it purred, "Beware the skull that holds too much and the head that thinks too little." 

Percy stared at the portrait. "That's it?" he asked incredulously. "That's all you've got to say for me when you've been predicting death and murder left and right?" 

The sphinx smiled enigmatically. "Oh, but there's going to be a lot of that going on around you anyway, so why state the obvious?" It seemed to heave a heavy sigh before hunkering down onto its haunches. "Now, if you'll all excuse me, it's been a rather tiring day. I must say, this is the most excitement I've had in about two millennia. The last time I had this much fun with a human, he ended up gouging his eyes out." 

____________________ 

Oliver smirked as he watched Percy's face pale. _Serves him right,_ he thought. _Showing off and pretending he's all brave and everything._ Just as he prepared to make a smart comment, a rather dishevelled-looking witch in rumpled emerald green robes made her way into the room. "I apologize for the wait, but several students in the Great Hall chose this most untimely moment to work out their differences. In any case, everything is fine now, and the Headmaster's just getting everything prepared. Now, let me introduce myself. I'm Professor McGonagall, Hogwarts' Deputy Headmistress. Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We'll soon be heading down to the Great Hall where..." 

Oliver tuned her out. Rhys and Gareth had already given him a play by play of Professor McGonagall's first year speech. Apparently, the only difference they'd detected in her speech was that she varied her descriptions of the Sorting Ceremony: once, they'd been with a group of first years who'd been particularly nervous, and McGonagall had taken a bit of extra time to explain the ceremony to them. 

When she finally finished her speech, and motioned for the students to file out after her, Oliver moved to the back of the line. Percy was at the front. As he moved past the portrait of the sphinx, Oliver paused. Scoffing at the other students' stupidity, he nudged the picture, wondering if the snoring sphinx would wake up. When it didn't, he rolled his eyes and moved to catch up with the other students. As he did, though, a low, sleepy voice called out from behind him: "Beware the fear of memories." 

Oliver froze. Swivelling around, he faced the portrait. The sphinx, though still half-asleep, was gazing at him through narrowed eyes. "Beware the fear of memories," it continued, "and the man who comes with amethyst eyes." Then, it dropped its head onto its paws and fell back to sleep. 

Oliver stood rooted to the spot, and even when he saw that most of the students had already filed into the Great Hall, he found that he couldn't move, could barely breathe. He stared at the portrait, and suddenly felt very, very cold. 

____________________ 

Author's Notes: It's the third chapter! Wheeee! Three is a very lucky number for me. ^_~ And this chapter, very luckily, went by pretty fast. At first, it was hard to write (especially the drug scene, which I _still_ think doesn't seem right), but the portrait scene went great. Actually, I think I rushed that sphinx scene, but I had the whole thing planned weeks ahead, so it was great fun typing it out. =D 

Until next weekend...   
-- Mang Guo 


End file.
